


Like it or not

by prototyping



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Male My Unit | Byleth, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Prompt Fic, can you guess which is which, one man is angry and reckless, the other is tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27894013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: Dimitri snorted. “You still believe I will be king when this is over?”“I believe keeping you alive is the right choice,” said Byleth, not quite answering the question.[Written for day 7 of FE3H Whump Week: “hiding injury/bleeding out.”]
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	Like it or not

The Imperial soldier choked on his dying breath as Dimitri turned away, a hard flick of his lance tossing the blood from its blade. There was no need to declare victory: the enemy’s forces had been completely and utterly wiped out－a thought that sent a fleeting sneer over the prince’s face－and news of the commander’s death would spread through the rest of the army before long.

Rather than saying anything to anyone, as a good leader no doubt would have done, Dimitri stalked silently back the way he had come, ignoring the wary and fearful looks of those he passed. His focus was put to better use in masking his discomfort and hiding his limp; the color of his armor helped disguise what his cloak didn’t, masking the blood running in thick rivulets down his side. Some of the Emperor’s dogs had a bite to them, after all.

A familiar flash of seafoam green caught his eye and he ignored it. Even when the sound of quick footsteps drew closer, clearly following him, Dimitri refused to acknowledge it－until a strong hand suddenly caught his arm and jerked him to a rough stop.

He rounded on Byleth with a low snarl and a heated glare. No one else would dare to touch him so, nor take his ire lightly, and yet the professor didn’t so much as flinch at the reaction.

Dimitri wasn’t sure what infuriated him more, Byleth’s stubborn, fearless insistence on reaching out to him, or the rush of emotion that surged inside him at that simple touch－distrust and paranoia, etched too deeply into his marrow by now to simply ignore it, but also disgust and irritation, at _himself_ , for tainting someone he wasn’t fit to touch.

“You’re injured.” There was a rare, hard edge to Byleth’s tone, brooking no argument.

Dimitri snorted skeptically to hide his surprise. “It’s nothing.” He started to turn away, but Byleth’s hand fisted tight in the shoulder of his cloak.

“It isn’t.” He ignored Dimitri’s expression and glanced aside. “Mercedes!” he called.

Dimitri batted the other man’s arm aside, for a moment failing to care that he might have been too rough. “Do _not_ speak for me. If you－”

Byleth wordlessly reached forward and inside Dimitri’s cloak, unlatching the buckles on his cuirass－and locating all four as quickly and efficiently as though he’d done so before. He hadn’t.

Confused, Dimitri watched him remove the front plates with equal familiarity, and then winced as the injury in his side throbbed. Without the pressure of his armor holding it back, fresh blood gushed heavily down his hip. It was worse than Dimitri had thought.

Byleth tore away the blood-soaked corner of the cotton shirt beneath to view the wound in full. It stung worse still as the warm air hit it. “Sit,” he ordered. When Dimitri obstinately refused to budge, Byleth finally looked up—with an unexpectedly severe expression.

It was a look that scrutinized Dimitri even as it pierced straight through him, analytical and judgmental and masking any thought behind it besides stern authority. It was an expression that had once sent a chill down his spine, what felt like a lifetime ago now, those dark and lifeless eyes straddling the uneasy line between human and _not_ , as shallow and unreadable as they appeared.

This time, however, Dimitri thought something in the look seemed off. Forced, conflicted. Tense, even, and not as natural as it had once been, as though Byleth was fighting his emotions rather than lacking them. As vaguely familiar as it was, such a look had never been directed at Dimitri. He couldn’t immediately place it.

After a moment, he recognized it.

Byleth... was angry.

At him.

Despite his state of mind, Dimitri had retained some of his self-preservation through the years, even if it was purely out of obligation to the dead most days. As he read the single, muted emotion in Byleth’s face, he felt that instinct grow wary, a warning bell in his head. He nearly flinched.

Before things could escalate, Mercedes arrived. After also urging Dimitri to sit, and getting him to grudgingly comply after another tense pause between the two men, she knelt beside him and cast a healing spell into his torn flesh. Byleth stood over them silently, his face suddenly as mild as it had been fierce just moments ago. The soldiers who had stopped to warily watch the exchange quickly resumed going about their business.

“That was a nasty wound, but you’ll be alright,” Mercedes assured him a couple minutes later. “You’ll still have some bruising, so let me know if it gets any worse.”

Rather than answering her, Dimitri glared up at Byleth. “If I want help, I’ll ask for it.”

Byleth frowned without looking at him. “That would have killed you.”

Petty irritation flooded Dimitri’s veins. It was one thing to be overruled, especially in front of his own soldiers, but that calm, collected confidence and certainty that he had once respected and admired now only served to infuriate him.

His answer was a dry, humorless chuckle. “If you can see the future so clearly, perhaps you could have prevented this war in the first place.”

Byleth glanced at him briefly. “If I could see the future, it would be in your best interest not to hide anything from me again. It might be too late for me to change it next time.”

He spoke with too straight a face and steady a voice for such a jest. Dimitri’s harsh smile faded, his tone growing sharper.

“Did the Goddess’ power go to your head, Professor? Or are you so desperate to repent for your absence that you would think so highly of yourself?” He grinned again, more a baring of teeth. “Does the guilt eat at you? Whisper to you every night?” He laughed again, low and rough and bitter. “Does it continue to blind you to the fact that your efforts toward me are wasted?” he murmured, half to himself.

 _Has it convinced you that I was ever worth saving?_

“Thank you, Mercedes,” said Byleth suddenly.

She took the hint and excused herself, hurrying off to help whoever else was in need of healing. Byleth stepped closer and knelt down on one knee so that he was eye-level with Dimitri.

“I do feel guilty,” he admitted coolly. “Every time I look at you. But that’s not why I stopped you from bleeding to death.”

Again with that arrogant certainty.

“Every time you extend my life, dozens more will lose theirs,” Dimitri replied gruffly.

“If you die, the army loses its commander. Faerghus loses its king. More of your people suffer and lose hope.”

Dimitri snorted. “You still believe I will be king when this is over?”

“I believe keeping you alive is the right choice,” said Byleth, not quite answering the question.

Dimitri tilted his head, sneering as he studied him. “And did you see that in the future, as well?”

“No.” That hung in the air for a moment, and then Byleth added, “I doubt there’s an answer I could give that you would accept. You probably have a dozen more reasons why I shouldn’t bother with you.” He smiled slightly, grimly, as Dimitri’s eye narrowed, and then he climbed back to his feet with a quiet sigh. “I don’t think it matters either way. I’ll keep looking after you regardless of whether you approve.” He offered his hand.

Dimitri disregarded it and stood up, likewise ignoring the pang in his freshly healed side. He couldn’t tell whether Byleth was being ridiculously selfless or ridiculously selfish, but his dedication was ridiculous all the same.

He stared at Byleth now, so collected and sure of himself, and recalled how he had looked that day in the Sealed Forest—calm to anyone who didn’t know him well, but to Dimitri’s eye he had been absolutely brimming with fury and vengeful bloodlust in the tightness of his expression, in the telling tics of his restless hands and tense posture.

Dimitri wondered if his own death would spark that same rage—if Byleth would fight for _his_ memory with the frenzy of a man hellbent on burning the world down if it got in his way.

A selfish part of him hoped so.

He also prayed right then and there that he wouldn’t. As much as a godless man stained black with sin _could_ pray, anyway.

“...Do what you will,” he grunted.


End file.
